For the Damned
by Rivornwen K A Magna
Summary: A series of oneshots I'm starting to write based on poems written by poets during world war one and world war two, plus two written in other times. May contain own characters alongside canon characters, but they all share equal value.
1. Dulce Et Decorum Est

Disclaimer: I do not own LoTR nor do I own the poem, I just learned the poem in an English class one day and never forgot it. I thought it suited.

* * *

**One: Dulce Est Decorum Est**

* * *

War was not funny, war was not a game; as young Fréademm was learning as he wandered through the lines of dead bodies, each injured almost beyond recognition before their deaths. He had only just come of age and this was his first outing with an éored, an outing to war with the consequences of a high possibility of death.

He was in no rush to meet his grandfather's spirit, but he was sure he may have to, since though the bodies were lined up and covered, there was still one fight left to attend to. It was one he was sure he would not return from; he could feel it in his bones.

He never got to know how right he was.

Fréademm, a simple Rohirrim rider of young age, fell to his death from his own horse, stabbed in the throat by the spear of an orc, the last sight in front of him; the black gates of Mordor and the orc's laughing face as another spear was plunged into his chest. Blood had gushed up from his lungs and dribbled between his lips as the pain overtook him.

He died in agony and knew nothing else.

Eadbearn, a cousin dear to Fréademm, walked behind the cart they had placed their to-be-honoured dead, staring at Fréademm's face, the look of agony and horror scaring him, but he refused to look away.

He had lost his King and his kin, to a war many had said would bring honour and glory to Rohan once it was won.

He knew now, they were wrong.

And Fréademm had realised it too.

_If in some smothering dreams you too could pace  
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,  
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,  
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;  
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood  
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,  
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud  
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--  
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest  
To children ardent for some desperate glory,  
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est  
Pro patria mori_

-Dulce Et Decorum Est By Wilfred Owen


	2. Suicide in the Trenches

**Disclaimer:** I do not own LoTR nor do I own the poem. I had to study an antyhology of War Poetry for GCSE english over 4 years ago anf I have loved it ever since for it's meanings and it's subtle teachings. Pendem and Pephennas are two gondorian soldiers I thought up to go with this poem.

* * *

**Two: Suicide in the Trenches**

* * *

Pendem had been rather indifferent lately, or at least, he had been acting as though he was beginning to cope overly too well with the war that was raging through Arda. Smiling when orders were yelled to him and his fellow soldiers, sleeping better and better as the nights went on, no matter how loud the other men were; he awoke with the dawning of the sun, as cheerful as he had seemed the night before, not a hint of agitation.

He had seemed to be coping, at least in his own little way.

So when they found Pendem lying cold, pale and obviously dead, they were shocked. They would have cried that he would never have killed himself as he had so obviously done, but his actions over the days before his passing had changed their view.

It was obvious now, he would.

A march was held through the town as its soldiers marched out to face the enemy, the people cheering for their brave and noble men who would defeat the evil. There was no hint of sympathy for them, though obviously families worried for their sons, brothers and husbands.

But no matter how worried for their families they seemed, these wives, daughters and sisters seemed to be cheering for their noble men who were to go to battle and either never return, or return changed beyond recognition.

Pephennas only hoped they would never know of the place where youth and laughter go in the aftermath of war.

_I knew a simple soldier boy  
Who grinned at life in empty joy,  
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,  
And whistled early with the lark._

_In winter trenches, cowed and glum,  
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,  
He put a bullet through his brain.  
No one spoke of him again._

_You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye  
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,  
Sneak home and pray you'll never know  
The hell where youth and laughter go._

- Suicide in the trenches by Siegfried Sassoon


	3. Icarus Allsorts

**Disclaimer: I don't own Icarus Allsorts nor do I own anything to do with LoTR. For this one, since it's a rather complicated poem, you'll find I'm twisting things very slightly to match alongside it.**

* * *

**Three: Icarus Allsorts**

* * *

No-one had any idea of what had happened. One minute it was a calm and clear day, the next there was a mighty blast of hot air and fire. People were screaming as fires came to life along rooftops of straw and hot air wound through the walkways.

Was it an attack by gathered enemy forces who had survived the hunting King Elessar, King Eomer and various princes and lords had ordered?

No, it was a rather unfortunate problem caused by an overzealous young soldier who had heard of the supposed attack by those left behind in Mordor, who had experienced the Orcs special weapon that had blown apart a gateway, who had recreated it in a much larger scale.

Ulunon had not realise what evil could be done from one simple explosive weapon.

It was days before he realised how much damage he had really done. Believing it to be an attack from Haradrim or from remaining Orcs, Rohan and Gondor had gone on a hunt for them, subsequently causing a third war amongst those of this world.

This new war lasted 4 summers, approximately 30 million people dead. And all because Ulunon had been overly eager to find a way to prevent another war.

_A little bit of heaven fell  
From out of the sky one day  
It landed in Vermont  
North-eastern USA  
The general at the radar screen  
He should have got the sack  
But that wouldn't bring  
Three thousand million, seven hundred, and sixty-eight people back,  
Would it?_

******-**** Icarus Allsorts** _Roger McGough_


End file.
